


Game Night

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Series: Fallout Modern AU - it all started in a coffee shop [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Tabletop Gaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The companions of Fallout 3 sit down to game night at the local coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet the Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Fawkes and Charon, two meta human roommates in a college town.

“You’re trapped,” the ghoul says, blunt and without preamble.

Fawkes blinks up from his breakfast—fried eggs and sausage, a little treat for himself on this lazy Saturday morning. Intelligently, he asks, “Huh?”

“You’re stuck in your routine,” Charon explains, voice gravel-rough before taking a swig of orange juice.  Not that the citrus helps soften his harsh edges, but it provides energy as he launches back into the subject. “You go listen to lectures and teach and do whatever else you do at the university, then we hit the gym, then you sit in the apartment and read.”

“It’s comfortable,” Fawkes says defensively, curling one arm about his plate to shield his hapless meal from Charon’s accusations.

“It’s a rut.” Charon drains his glass and places it in the dishwasher, where it sits in precise alignment with the other accumulated dishes. “So I propose something new. I have all my old D&D books and we can build a group. The coffee shop down the street should be a good spot for Friday night gaming.”

The super mutant groans, shaking his head. “Never played before.”

“More reason to try,” the ghoul says acerbically.

Fawkes gives Charon a suspicious look, but the ghoul’s flayed facial features reveal little. “How many people do you need?” he finally asks, still guarded.

“I could modify the encounters according to our numbers,” Charon states. Fawkes feels a strange swimming sensation, looking at his roommate—tall and intimidating, if not nearly as tall as Fawkes himself, desiccated face lined from battle fatigue—possibly one of the most murderous-looking individuals he’s ever met. And yet here he is, calmly discussing a tabletop game. The only time he ever surprised Fawkes this much was when he came back to the apartment to find Charon unexpectedly blaring ‘Please Please Me’ at top volume and crooning along.

The two had studiously avoided looking one another in the eye for nearly a week after.

He returns to the present as Charon continues. “But ideally, at least two others. Better party dynamics.”

“I doubt Keene or Marcus would be interested.”

Charon fixes him with a milky gaze. “Then we’ll find others.”

 _But those are the only two meta humans I know_ , Fawkes wants to say, but the words die in his throat. Even in this college town, there are few ‘altered humans’ like themselves. Besides Charon, Fawkes can only think of the coffee shop’s owner—a gentle man named Gob—and the couple that run the diner.

“Well, at least it’ll get us out of the apartment once a week,” he allows.

Charon nods tersely. “Agreed. Next Friday’s game night.”


	2. Teacher-man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the cast.

Fawkes and Charon arrive early to set up, of course—they take a corner in the back, setting up Charon’s laminated screen and the premade character sheets for their new players, but there’s really not much else that Fawkes can do to help. He taps his foot, hands twisting until finally Charon rasps, “Go get us some drinks. I’ll take a black coffee, whatever beans they recommend. Something dark roast.”

Fair enough, and Fawkes owes him for picking up groceries anyway. So he walks to the front, eyeing the drink menu and thinking about what to order. He normally likes his with cream and sugar, but maybe one of the flavored options...

The ringing door interrupts his thoughts. A young man with a lovingly styled pompadour swaggers in, along with a young woman he immediately recognizes—

And she recognizes him too, face lighting up and swiping her neon-red curls back with one hand. “Hey, mister teacher-man! Are you the GM?”

“Jennifer?” he stutters, and he really shouldn’t be stuttering. She’s just another student, she’s just another young woman and even that dyed hair and the half-shaved head isn’t that unusual on a college campus, and she’s just another incredibly bright and attractive young co-ed who likes to read Neruda’s poetry before class starts and she always comes to office hours and _why is he even thinking this about her_. She’s _far_ too young, and—

“I keep telling you, only my dad calls me Jennifer. I’m Jinx,” she chides.

“Yeah, he does. And he sounds like an absolute _tool_ when he does it,” her friend (boyfriend?) mutters. “But nah. He ain’t the GM. That’s supposed to be a ghoul.”

“Charon, yes. I am Fawkes. I’m—are you playing too then?”

Jinx shakes her head regretfully. “No. I’m working tonight, but Butchie’s supposed to be in your group.” She waggles her fingers as she disappears into a back room.

Butch eyes him critically, thumbs looped into his jeans. “So… you’re the teacher-man,” he drawls.

“TA,” Fawkes corrects.

The young man dismisses it with a snort. “Eh, teacher-man. I mean, my roomie says you’re better’n the professor anyway. But cool.”

“I am flattered to hear that,” he murmurs, feeling so awkward and huge next to Butch. “Who’s your roommate?”

Butch rolls his eyes. “You just met her, man. Jinx.”

“Oh.” Fawkes’ brain catches up with his ears, and he repeats himself. “ _Oh_. I wasn’t expecting—“

Snorting, Butch bulges his tongue out in disgust. “We ain’t like that, man. She’s my best gal, you dig? We’ve been tight since high school, and didn’t make sense to split an apartment with strangers.”

“Better not be bad-mouthing me, Butchie,” Jinx calls, tying her apron behind her as she emerges. “What can I get started for you?”

“Hell, babe. You got better taste’n me. Just gimme a cup of whatever.”

“And you, teacher-man?” she asks, eyes bright and teasing. The pale blue catches the light, making them glow against the ambiguous brown of her complexion. He’s never been quite able to figure out exactly what her background is.

“Black coffee, dark roast. Whatever you think is good,” he says helplessly. “And I’m still deciding.”

“Oh? What do you like?”

He rubs his hand against the back of his neck, still staring blankly at the list of drink options. “I was thinking something… flavored? I don’t go to a lot of coffee shops,” he adds apologetically.

Jinx leans across the counter, propping herself on her elbows and grinning ear to ear. “How about something sweet and ridiculous?” And he’s blushing, he knows it, she probably isn’t even flirting and even if she were they _can’t_ because he’s still her _TA_ and then she derails that thought by clarifying. “How about a white chocolate mocha? I can put a raspberry drizzle on top too. And if you don’t like it, I’ll mix you up something else.”

“That sounds good.” Not enthusiastic enough. “Really good.” Why did he even leave the apartment?

 _Because you’re a thirty-something man with all the emotional development of a teenager_ , he hears Charon drily mocking. _And don’t give me that amnesia bullshit. You need to get a life_.

“All right, Fawkes. One ‘really good’ white chocolate mocha with a raspberry drizzle coming up, right after the coffees,” she says breezily. He watches her fix the drinks, humming under her breath and dancing in place, kicking her legs and making him think of some chirpy little bird, all twitters and rapid movements as she bustles with knobs and levers and he doesn’t even _know_ the name of the parts she’s fiddling with but it’s hypnotic.

“So you ever played D&D before?” Butch asks, interrupting his reverie.

“No, but Charon has. It’s… a new experience,” Fawkes admits.

“Cool. New for me too, but I figured hey. Gotta try things, right? ‘Swhat college is all about.” He grins, sharp and wolf-like. “Even for teacher-men.”

“Here’s the drinks, guys. Tell me how you like yours, Fawkes.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her apron, biting her lip and he realizes as he touches the cup to his lips (and oh look, she even drizzled the syrup in a star shape over the whipped cream) that even if this tastes worse than the mysterious weeks-old meat-cake in the back of the fridge that he tried solely because he was starving and there was nothing left in the pantry, he will grit his teeth and lie and say it’s delightful.

Fortunately, there’s no need to lie. The first small sip of the sweetness and foam makes him melt into the cup, lips parted as he slowly exhales.

“Good, huh?” She looks absolutely delighted.

“Very.” He tries to slip her the money, but she just shakes her head.

“Said the first drinks were my treat. Have fun, guys.”

Butch snorts, dropping a bill into the tip jar. Hesitantly, Fawkes drops what would have been payment for the drinks in as well, ignoring Jinx’s ‘ _Hey_!’

“You are a starving college student,” he reminds her, taking Charon’s drink. “But thank you.”

“Fine, fine. But thanks.” She shifts her weight, looking up at him with a faint smile. “And thanks for being a really good teacher.”


	3. First Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all here.

When the rest of the players arrive, they end up taking over two tables in the back of the coffee shop, and a more unlikely group would be hard to imagine. Sitting in the corner, laminated screen erected as a barrier between him and the players, is a tall, rangy ghoul whose flesh is a peculiar red-orange, as if flayed. Beside him is a super mutant, hunched in on himself in an attempt to keep his eight feet of height from being too conspicuous. A dark-skinned woman with short-cropped gray hair sits on the ghoul’s other side, carefully stirring sugar into her cup.

“Heh. Your coffee’s a lot like you, huh?” The man seated across from her smirks, rubbing a hand against his coarse beard. The acrid stench of old cigarettes lingers about him.

“If you say ‘black and sweet,’ I’m gonna punch you in the _nuts_ ,” growls the young woman sitting next to him. Her bleached hair is shaved into an unladylike ridge and a spiked collar peeks over the edge of her bubble-gum pink hoodie.

The older woman smiles, steam wreathing her face as she takes a dainty sip. “Thank you Clover, but I don’t think violence is necessary.”

“I dunno. Sometimes I figure violence _is_ necessary for some folks, Miz Cross,” butts in the last member of the group. His hair is lovingly styled into a pompadour, and he wears a heavy leather jacket with a serpent logo.

“Hey. Stop fighting. I’ve got premade character sheets for the new people, so let’s talk,” the ghoul rasps. “Introduce yourselves and your characters. I’m Charon, your dungeon master for the evening.”

The mutant coughs, holding a pencil in one hand. “I am called Fawkes, and I am playing an elf wizard…” Hesitantly, he starts describing the character’s name and abilities, but the bearded man snorts.

“Wizard? Anyone else think it funny that the big mutie’s playing a scrawny guy in a dress?”

“Jericho, it’s called a roleplaying game for a reason,” Cross says serenely.

“Yeah, and this ain’t the kind of roleplaying I thought we’d—“

“Jericho, shut it,” snaps Clover. “Ignore my idiot neighbor. Anyways, I’m playing half-orc barbarian. I like my fights up close ‘n personal. Oh, and my name’s Clover.”

“The little girl already introduced me, so… fuck it. I’m Jericho. And I’m playing a human rogue.” He punctuates this with a wink—which he’d probably call ‘roguish’— which only causes Clover to roll her eyes. “You just go around stealing shit, right? Easy enough.”

“More like a human _rouge_ , ‘cuz you can’t spell for shit.”

“Starting to wonder if I should have made a cleric instead…” Cross murmurs, eyes twinkling. “But I rolled up a paladin.”

“Hey, I’m your age, lady. I ain’t calling you ‘Miz Cross’ all night. What’s your name?” Jericho juts his jaw, fixing her with his best impression of steely-eyed resolution.

Cross remains unswayed. “I prefer going by Cross.”

He refuses to be deterred, crossing his arms with a grunt. “Nah, what’s your first name?”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Clover mutters, punching him in the shoulder with a sideways swipe of her knuckles. “Will you ever shut up, old man?”

Cross smiles, teeth gleaming against the darkness of her skin. “Star.”

“Your parents hippies or something?”

“Now you know why I prefer going by Cross.”

Butch coughs, running his finger over the character sheet in front of him. “Hey, I’m new to all this junk too, but I asked for some class that’s supposed to be able to pick up chicks, you know? So I guess I’m a bard.”

Immediately, Clover starts laughing. “A _bard_? Shit, why didn’t you just decide to be our party’s bitch?”

“A bard has important support functions,” Charon interjects, mouth thinning. The tightening of his exposed muscles is all anyone has to go by, considering he has no lips.

Clover continues mercilessly, slapping the table as she chortles, “Ooh, yeah! Let’s go _sing_ at those nasty goblins and see what happens!”

“ _Hey_ , I said I’d try this stupid game with you, and now—!” Butch exclaims, voice rising until one of the coffee shop’s owners stops by their table.

“Problems, hon? Can we keep the volume down?” the redhead drawls, her voice like smoke and whiskey.

“Sorry Nova. But _damn_ , you’re looking good.” Jericho grins, displaying tobacco-stained teeth. “If you and your ghoul-friend hit any problems, you know where to find me.”

“If you don’t stop being obnoxious, we can kick you out. Again.” Nova’s smile glitters without warmth.

“Shut it, Jericho,” Charon mutters. “Thanks for letting us hold the game here, Nova. Give Gob my best.”

“Will do.” She walks away, hips swaying.

Butch and Jericho both watch her leave with a sigh. Then their eyes meet, acutely aware of their shared reaction, and there is a mutual coughing fit.

Drumming his fingers against the table, Charon gathers their attention with a voice like bleeding gravel. “Anyways, a couple reminders. I want _role_ -playing, not just roll-playing. Keep in character when interacting, but if you got any questions, you can always ask.” He takes a long, rasping breath. “So you all meet in a bar…”

An hour and a half later, the party finished bonding through an impressive bar fight, Jericho’s character had gotten slapped by the mayor’s daughter, Fawkes adamantly refused to cast magic missile at the darkness, and they had undertaken a quest to hunt for bandits in a nearby forest. They also succeeded in demolishing two cups of coffee apiece, except for Fawkes who is sipping his third white chocolate mocha with his pinky daintily extended.

“Night is falling as you reach the crossroads. To the north is the great forest, and the sign says Bredon’s Town is to the east. There is a gazebo nearby…” Charon describes the scene, only to be interrupted by Butch.

“Hey, how big is this gazebo?”

Charon blinks, defaulting to his standard answer when asked a question: rolling a die. “Twenty feet wide.”

Butch’s eyes widen and he nearly drops his comb. “ _Shit_! Has it seen us? Can gazebos see in the dark?”

Uncertainly, Charon replies, “I don’t think it matters with gazebos…”

“I fire an arrow at it!” Butch exclaims. Then he blinks, goggle-eyed and realizing his error. “Wait, I roll initiative!”

Clover groans, palming her forehead as Jericho snickers “This should be good…”

“Are you sure this is a wise course of action?” Cross asks gently, struggling to keep her lips from twitching. “Do you know what a gazebo is?”

“I know it’s a fucking twenty-foot monster that can see in the dark and it’s near us!” Butch declares, slapping the table. “And the Butch-man ain’t going down without a fight! Fawkes, how about—“

“I am _not_ casting magic missile at the gazebo!” groans Fawkes, voice rumbling through the room as he dabs whipped cream from his upper lip.

“Hey, how much damage did I do anyway? And did I get the first hit ?” Butch demands.

Charon just grits his teeth, rubbing his temples. “You’re not wrecking the gazebo with arrows, kid. And, uh, I guess you win initiative by default.”

“What if I launch a _flaming_ arrow at the gazebo?”

At this point, Clover has to start pounding Jericho’s back due to all the sputtering.

Attempting to restore order, Cross tries to explain. “Butch, a gazebo is not a monster. It’s—“

“Sweet! You got a spell for ‘charm gazebo’ then?”

“Look, even a _flaming arrow_ won’t kill a gazebo, because it can’t be killed!” Charon snaps, starting to lose patience as he rattles a handful of dice.

Butch’s shoulders slump, and he stares woefully at his character sheet. “Fuck. And it’s probably angry now.” Breathing deeply and assuming the mantle of martyrdom, he declares, “Fine. I charge the gazebo with my rapier.”

“And then the gazebo _fucking eats you_!” exclaims the GM, finally frustrated by Butch’s ineptitude.

And thus died Butch the Bard, only for them to encounter Butch the Bard’s brother five minutes down the road.


End file.
